


Portfolios

by Anastasia3000



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Photographs, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anastasia3000/pseuds/Anastasia3000
Summary: Polaroids of a love story.
Relationships: Carol Aird & Abby Gerhard, Carol Aird & Rindy Aird, Carol Aird & Therese Belivet, Carol Aird/Abby Gerhard, Carol Aird/Therese Belivet, Rindy Aird & Therese Belivet, Rindy Aird/Therese Belivet, Therese Belivet/Dannie McElroy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. In Retrospective

**Author's Note:**

> All the photographs featured are Vivian Maier's.
> 
> Publishing a new story, because yolo. Hope you enjoy the idea.

> **All Kings, and all their favourites,**   
>  **All glory of honours, beauties, wits,**   
>  **The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass,**   
>  **Is elder by a year now than it was**   
>  **When thou and I first one another saw:**   
>  **All other things to their destruction draw,**   
>  **Only our love hath no decay;**   
>  **This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,**   
>  **Running it never runs from us away,**   
>  **But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.**
> 
> **~ John Donne, _The Anniversary_**

“Do you regret it?” Carol asks. Sitting in front of the vanity mirror in the bedroom, she is carefully brushing her hair.

Therese closes the book she is reading. “Regret what?” She takes off her reading glasses and puts them on the book on her lap.

A pause from Carol. “Being with me.” She stops the brushing, and puts the comb down on the mahogany desk; however, she doesn’t turn to face Therese.

“Why on Earth should I regret it, Carol?” Therese lays book and glasses on the nightstand, and props herself up against the pillows. She meets Carol’s glassy eyes in the mirror.

“It’s just...” – Carol shoulders slump – “You see... I’m 51, and you’re 39... I’m old, I’m holding you back...”

“Carol.” Therese’s voice is firm and soft at once, and Carol turns to look at Therese. “You’re not old. And you’re not holding me back. What’s the matter?”

Carol shrugs. “I don’t know.” Her hurt expression reminds Therese of a puppy dog under the rain. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you.”

Therese pats a hand on Carol’s side of bed. “Come lay down with me.”

Carol hesitates for a brief moment, then walks to the bed and lays down next to Therese.

“The Guggenheim contacted me to take part in a photography exhibit. They want to show my pictures.”

“An exhibit at the Guggenheim? That’s wonderful, Therese!” Carol tucks a strand of hair behind Therese’s ear.

“I want you to help me choose the shots to submit. Would you?”

Carol rests her hand on Therese’s cheek. “Of course. Of course I would.”

> **_Gigil_ , (n.): the irresistible urge to squeeze someone because you love them.**


	2. Sister Alicia

_It is a day at the gates of autumn, when the breeze is cool and the sun has already lost its pounding heat, but it is still warm enough to enjoy a day outdoors, and the smell of underbrush and burning wood calls for the colder days ahead. The morning light filters through the window, and the maple tree is casting its shadow on the wall facing the bed. It is still too early, the three girls sharing the room with me are still asleep and I have the shadow dancing on the wall all for myself. My mother had come to visit the day before – before our time together is over, I told her to never visit again. Shortly after, she got up and walked away. At the age of 12, I am free – both of us are free. But my mother had found a way to come back to me, she haunted my dreams that night – she had found a way again to cast me in a loveless pit of despair. That night was restless and I can’t recall how long I laid in bed in the morning, just looking at the shadow of the tree branch gently swaying in the wind._

“And then I heard Sister Alicia’s footsteps down the corridor. So I got up, and walked to her.”

_I look at her with tired eyes and sleep–mussed air. She asks me why I am up so early, if I slept well. But I can’t answer, tears trailing down my cheeks before I can stop them, the breath itching every so often. She softly shakes her head, and takes me in her big arms – the sobs shake my thin body, Sister Alicia’s strong embrace is the safe harbour that prevents me from crumbling to pieces entirely. She smells of soap and lavender; the gentle smell eventually calms me down and my tears subside. I tell her of my mother, and of my sleepless night, but somehow she knows already. She urges me to take a quick shower and get dressed, she’ll fix me a bigger breakfast than usual. I am not sure if I can stomach anything, but I don’t say a word and do as she says. In the kitchen, Sister Alicia moves swiftly from one pan to another, and the smell of the cooking food finally has my stomach rumbling. Sitting perched on a stool, I devour the food as soon as the plate touches the table. Sister Alicia sits across from me, and I don’t dare raising my head up to look in her direction, to look at her, but I can feel her eyes on me, her kind gaze that is making sure I eat._

“We then walked out into the backyard. Sister Alicia needed an extra hand to tend to the kitchen garden, but of course it was a lie. She could take care of it all by herself, it was her pride and joy – but I’ll always be grateful for the kindness she’d showered me with that day.

“I only had to carry the wicker basket around for her to drop some vegetables in as we walked around the garden. She patiently explained to me all that there was to know about gardening, and once in a while she would make me feel the texture of the soil, leaves, and greens. Once we were done there, she walked me to the greenhouse, where she grew ornamental flowers and plants. Dangling from the ceiling were a few wind chimes made out of shards of glass. In the mid-morning light, the specks of colour skimmed on the leaves and the flowers – I clung to the happiness of that moment for the whole day, and for the days to come. Sister Alicia would sometimes bring me with her to the greenhouse again, but no other trip ever outgrew the stupor of that first time. Six years later I was already out of The Home, when one of the nuns contacted me. Sister Alicia had passed away of a heart attack while working in the greenhouse. The function was modest, the way I am sure she would have wanted it. Before leaving, the nun gave me a small package Sister Alicia had left for me – one of the wind chimes from the greenhouse.

“Alicia was also the nun on the right. I felt the urge to walk to her, to finally speak all the words I could never find the courage to speak when I was younger, and that I never had the chance to say in the end. I asked her to say a prayer for Sister Alicia – her affection was the light in the dark sea of my growing up.”

> **_Absquatulate_ ** **, (v.): to leave without saying goodbye.**


End file.
